


your hands on my cheeks your shoulder in my mouth

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hallucinations, Jon needs Robb, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Not Happy, Robb needs Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: It’s a twisted love, the one Jon has for him, burns like a fire in his gut and he can never seem to tamp it out.





	your hands on my cheeks your shoulder in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the kickass song Anna Sun by Walk the Moon

He was different before, never hotheaded but he seethed quietly a lot more than he ever did now. Maybe it’s because Robb was around, because of Theon. He, nor anyone else would describe himself as jealous, but maybe possessive was the right word. A dragon raised by a wolf pack. The blood ran hot through him.

So Jon was cool, he was even. Unless it involved Robb.

They’d all be careful when sparing in the practice yard, until they got older and Theon started to get more aggressive with his parrys, covering Robb in bruises. Jon had hit him once for that, corned him in the stables after practice as Robb was limping off to see the Maester and Jon had just seen red as Theon gloated, fist connecting with his stupid teeth and he’d fallen like an anchor dropping into the sea. Jon had backed off, scrambled off to find Robb and fret over him, and Robb had told him it was fine, he was fine, nothing was broken.

Jon considers himself colder now, since the Red Woman brought him back from the dead. He’s stronger since he’d gone to the wall, gone far north and when Theon arrives on Dragonstone, stumbles up the beach towards him Jon instinctively grabs his collar, yanks him close until their breath mingles and growls out that if it weren’t for Sansa, if she wasn’t alive, he’d kill Theon himself. Hurt flashes in Theon’s swirling eyes, he knows Jon isn’t lying, just knows exactly why and it hurts him. Jon cares about him sacking Winterfell, he cares that Theon murdered two innocent children, but the thing Jon would kill over is his betrayal of Robb. It’s a twisted love, the one Jon has for him, burns like a fire in his gut and he can never seem to tamp it out. He releases Theon, satisfied as he stumbles back across the sand, and storms off towards the castle. If Robb were here he’d have stepped between them, begged them both to stop, always such a peacemaker. He was peaceful and good and should’ve never gone to war.

Jon wanted to protect him, shield him from the horrors of watching your friends choke to death on their own blood and bile, wrap him in his arms and never let go.

“You can’t go, Jon. You just can’t.” Robb had snuck into his chambers late after a feast, wine heavy on his breath.

Jon felt the anger rise in him at the words, at Robb’s pleading tone. “Shut up, Robb you’re drunk.” He snarls, shrugs his hand from where it’s laying heavy on his shoulder.

The look that crosses Robb’s face is not an expression Jon’s ever seen on him, utter despair and heartbreak. He shouldn’t be so cruel to him, but he can’t help it.

“I’m not fucking drunk, bastard.” Robb snipes back, and the words sting against Jon’s skin.

He’s gentle and kind and trusting, not malicious and cruel. Jon thinks maybe Theon has pulled his strings one too many times. He doesn’t even register hitting his brother. He remembers the sickening thud as his fist collided with Robb’s cheekbone, sending him tripping backwards onto the bed. And Robb doesn’t say anything, holds his face and stares at Jon blankly.

“Robb- I’m,” Jon heaves, stomach churning. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Robb just keeps looking at him, face crumpling, his eye already a tinge of red. They stare at each other for what feels like centuries, unmoving. The wolf and the dragon, snarling and circling. Waiting to see who snaps first.

“Black will suit you, it always has.” Robb sounds pained, and Jon knows it’s not from his face. He stands to leave on shaky legs, almost across the threshold and Jon grabs his arm, yanks him back.

“Stop it already, would you?” Jon is getting angry again and he doesn’t know why. Robb turns to him, blue eyes even bluer than he thought possible, tears welling.

“Let me go, Jon.” Robb sniffs, angrily wipes at his face and Jon grips his arm tighter.

“ _No_.” He’s selfish, surging in to yank Robb into the broad expanse of his chest and kiss him, he’s riding for Castle Black tomorrow and Robb loves him, begged him to stay, and yet Jon can’t let him go yet. Robb whimpers as he pulls at him, fingers tight against his hip bone.

“I need you here, Jon.” Robb bucks against him, whispering the words into Jon’s mouth and he groans at the thought that the Heir of Winterfell needs him. “I can’t do it without you, any of it.” He’s begging, scrabbling to pull off his shirt, tears rolling down his face. And Jon licks the tears from where they’ve dropped down on his neck.

“I’m the last person you need, Robb.” He pulls at the ties of Robb’s breeches, hand slipping down and caressing the soft skin. He wants to feel needed, craves it, side effects of being a bastard son, he supposes, and Robb moans, absolutely wrecked.

“I do so need you.” The words are shaky, Robb’s trembling against him. “I’ll die without you, Jon.” It’s dramatic, Robb isn’t one for theatrics but it does the trick for Jon, and he thinks for a split second of staying.

They tumble down onto the bed after they’re both sated, breathing heavily against each other’s mouths. Robb curls into his side, as he often does, and Jon wraps his arms around him, holding him tight. Robb is his, and he is Robb’s, even if it’s just at night. He doesn’t sleep well, knows he’ll fare terribly on the ride in the morning, but he doesn’t care. He spends his last hours holding Robb to his heart, memorizing ever last line on his face, the curve of his lips, those tendrils of red that caress his cheekbones. He shudders at the way the bruise is blossoming across his cheek. Robb is beautiful. He slips away before the rest of the castle stirs, padding gently down to his chambers. He cries as he thinks of Robb, begging and crying and pleading him to stay, don’t go. But he does go. Robb looks like he’s going to throw up as Jon saddles his horse, whistles for Ghost and Grey Wind watches them from Robb’s side quizzically.

Robb finally steps up to him, after most of the men are riding to the gate.

“I love you, Jon.” He whispers against his black curls, into the curve of his neck and hugs him tightly, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you, Robb.”

If he’d know those would be the last true words he’d ever speak to Robb, he’d have said something else. He’d have told him how much he needed him, how returning home to the snow covered castle after winter had come didn’t feel right without Grey Wind galloping up to squeeze between them and cause them to stumble against each other. How much he missed his laugh, his Tully blue eyes, the way he threw his head back and sighed when Jon bit him, when Jon squeezed bruises into his arms and promised him everyone would know who he belonged to. Robb had been gone for years now, resting between his parents in the crypts, and Jon- not for the first time- feels like a bandit stealing precious jewels when he goes down to visit him. He talks to him often, Arya has caught him crying at Robb’s stone feet, whispering secrets to him, reaching out beyond the realm of the living.

“You don’t have to wear so much black now, Jon, you’ve been released from your vows.” Sansa points out to him one evening, and he laughs along with her and Arya, nods and agrees to think about a wardrobe more colorful.

 _“Black will suit you, it always has.”_ He can still hear the thickness of Robb’s accent when he said those words.

He took the black so many years ago to make a name for himself, to become someone other than Ned Stark’s disgraceful bastard son, wears it long after he’s come home because he’s mourning. He’ll be buried in black, for his heart will never stop aching for Robb. He’ll mourn until they’re joined again, Jon has no idea how long that will take but he’ll wait, patiently, like Robb would want him to. The Red Woman brought him back and the first thing he’d seen was Ghost, panting steadily by his side, nudging his palm. They’d all asked him what lay beyond, where had he gone. He’d said there was nothing, death was a never ending chasm of black, and that was ironic, as his brothers all stood crowding him. Their watch would end, just as it had began, clad in darkness.

He’s lying, he’d seen Robb, seen Grey Wind loyally at his side and he’d rushed to him, tackled him into the soft grass and sobbed, inhaling his sweat spiced scent and feeling his curls against his cheek. They’d just lain there, holding each other, breathing but not breathing. Jon didn’t want to open his eyes, terrified of losing him again, his mouth filled with Robb’s auburn locks, head buried on his shoulder.

“Jon, look at me, please.” His tears sting as he stares at him, he’s real, he’s really there, Grey Wind lapping at his fingers affectionately and even in death they’re inseparable.

“I miss you every day, Robb, I never should’ve taken the black, I should’ve fought by your side, I should’ve been at the Twins I-“ The words, his deepest regrets, tumble out of his mouth. He can’t stop.

Robb just looks at him gently, lovingly. “I’ve waited so long for you.” He kisses him, wrapping his arms around his neck, heavy and solid. “Gods, Jon, I missed you.”

Suddenly, violently, Jon is being pulled back. He doesn’t know where, watches Robb shrink away and he’s screaming, anguished screams. He wakes up to Ghost.

He hangs the men that killed him, watches their necks break and a wave of calm rushes down over him, replacing the rage he so often felt before. He’s different. Maybe because of Robb, maybe because death is meant to be permanent but he was yanked away from it. So when he returns home, he’s calmer. He has nothing to protect, because Robb is safe. He’s waiting for him, out in the expanse of nothingness, and Jon will see him again. He fights violently for the living, side by side with _Theon Greyjoy_ , even though the most precious thing to him has already died. They win, and continue fighting. And every day Jon fights as if it’s his last, knows what’s waiting for him on the other side.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always so very appreciated! Thanks for reading!


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